Maybe I am lucky after all, a Mortal Instruments story
by xBookxWormxLovex
Summary: Clary is a sixteen year old outcast, rejected by almost everyone. Simon is a nerd, to say the least. But, he would trade all of his comic books to make her genuinely smile for once. She couldn't bear to live without him. Things are about to change between them, however, when Clary is trapped in her own body. Can they survive without each other, or can they escape together?
1. Life Is Just Peachy, Isn't It?

**This Story is heavy, with abuse and slightly sexual situations. I do not own any of The Mortal** **Instruments Series, I just enjoy it. All credit goes to the awesome Cassandra Clare and all of her hard** **work.**

Some people are lucky, sure, but some people weren't. Or maybe they were. I guess it depends on what you believe is "lucky;" always getting everything you wanted, or even just getting treated fairly and lovingly or having a great family. I, unfortunately, could be considered lucky by none of those standards. I never got anything I wanted, I was only treated fairly if "fairly" was being in constant pain and living in constant fear, and I really didn't have a family unless you considered Simon, my only and best friend, to be my family. In that case, I was very lucky; most people didn't know any one as amazing as Simon, let alone be friends with them.

Walking with Simon made me feel safe, despite what I would inevitably have to face at home. Even when they weren't saying anything, I felt comfortable in the silence. "Are you sure you want to come with me?" I smiled up a him, "Of course, I never turn down a chance to go to the library." He smiled, "Thanks, Clary." He seemed to be lost in thought. "What are thinking about?" I asked. He turned back to her, "Oh I, nothing." He said too quickly, not looking in her eyes. I decided not to press him, he would tell her when he was ready. They entered the door to the library, and Clary felt a soft kind of peace settle into her heart. She had always loved the library, with its high ceilings and endless supply of books. She didn't know when she had discovered her love of literature; she had been reading ever since she could remember. Books had never hurt her. Her chest tightened slightly, but she shook it off. She always did.

The library wasn't filled with people, oddly enough. They had no trouble finding a table to sit at, or books to read. Simon, of course, headed straight for the comic book section. He had always been sort of a nerd, but I never minded. I went towards the poetry section, instead. I had read most everything already, but I found that no matter how much I read something, it never ceased to surprise me. It was usually the same with people. Soon, Simon had picked his, and I had picked mine, and we were sitting across from each other in companionable silence.

All too soon, it was five o'clock. Simon looked at his watch at the same time I did, and stood up. As I placed my book back on the shelf, Simon asked, "Don't you want to check that out?" I did, of course, but it would be too hard to hide from my father, who had long ago forbidden me to appreciate literature. Or to do anything else I enjoyed. All I said, however, was; "Oh no, I'm already finished with this one." He looked suspicious, but only nodded. I liked that about him; his willingness to trust me. Soon, they were back at Simon's house. "Are you sure you don't want me to walk you home?" She smiled at his chivalry, "No I'm fine. Thanks though." He smiled suddenly. "What?" I asked. "Nothing. It's just... You're so beautiful when you smile. I wish that you would do it more often." Suddenly self-conscious, I fiddled with the hair that had escaped from the ponytail that she had put it in that morning. "I, uh, thank you." He nodded, "Well I'll see you later." I said the same, and started on my way home, dreading what I would doubtless be facing. I thought that Valentine would still be out; he usually stayed out late on Tuesdays, the one day that I didn't have to work.

I shut the front door softly behind me, and let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. Then, I felt it. The smothering prescience of my father. "You're home awfully late, Clarissa" He remarked coldly, though he thankfully didn't sound angrily. I didn't dare look at him or say a thing incorrectly, or soon things would change. I focused on the slight chip in the tile floor as I said, "Yes, sir, I had a project I had to finish up." While that wasn't necessarily true, I thought it would be better if I said that instead of telling him about my semi-frequent trips to the library after school with someone other than my father or brother (which would make them beyond furious). "Why wasn't I informed of this project earlier?" He asked in the same icy tone, moving towards me slightly. "I, er forgot to mention it to you. I'm sorry, sir." "You're _sorry_?" He said, fury suddenly exploding in him. "Well, I guess that makes it okay then, _doesn't_ it?" He sneered, crossing the distance between us in one too-long stride. "I didn't say that, sir." I said, moving away from him as far as I could. It wasn't far enough. He slapped me, so hard I could taste blood in my mouth, and growled, "You are such an ungrateful _brat_ , all you do is think of yourself. I thought that I'd taught you better than that. I guess I need to teach you again and again, until you finally learn." My eyes widened, but I remained quiet. This was dangerous territory, but not uncharted. Suddenly, I was being thrown into the kitchen. I slammed into the counter and landed on my back, hard. I scrambled to my feet just in time for him to slam his fist into the side of my head. "Father, _please_ stop. I'm sorry, I'll never do it again." I pleaded, still reeling, grabbing the counter to hold myself up or else I would probably be on the floor. He smirked evilly, "I don't believe that, seeing as you have yet to earn my trust. Although with the right discipline, you might be capable." Before I knew it, I was on the floor again, blinking away stars, having just been subject to one of my father's uppercuts. He kicked me, then spat, "You better have dinner ready before your brother gets home, or the consequences will be severe." After I caught my breath, I obeyed. I always did because I was a coward, a measly one at that.

My mother, Jocelyn, left twelve years ago, when I was four and Jonathan was five, presumably because she realized how horrible Valentine truly was. Yet, he had always blamed _me._ I guess because I was the youngest, and that having me had somehow affected her. It was more likely that she was just a coward and he just didn't want to face that fact. He missed her terribly, for whatever reason, and tried to use me to fill that void. It was sick, but I couldn't exactly change my situation. As soon as I became eighteen, though, as I was gone. I was already saving up money and hiding it.

Pretty soon, their dinner was ready and I put it out for them, and was heading for my room. Hopefully for some peace and quiet, too, but that was as likely as me sprouting wings and flying away. I felt him pull me towards him as I passed him, none too gently, and order, "I expect you in my room when I'm finished." I felt dread course through me, but I merely said, "Yes sir," and continued on my way. It was going to be a long night.

Right after I closed my door, I heard Jonathan and knew he was home. They were talking, laughing, like normal people might. I felt a deep, piercing sadness in my heart, but I pushed it away. He would never, could never, love me liked he loved Jonathan. They were nearly identical; they had the same features, they talked the same, and they hated me nearly equally. They would sometimes take turns "punishing" me for something I'd done. Jonathan seemed to take great pleasure in that.

I decided to go ahead and get ready for bed because I probably wouldn't get another chance to. I looked in the mirror, and instantly regretted it. I looked _horrible_ , and I probably would even if I didn't have bruises forming on my nearly transparent skin and didn't have deep purple bags under my dark green eyes. I must really look different when I smiled, like a different person. _Like my mother_ , I thought suddenly. I never could see the resemblance between us; Jocelyn had been tall and willowy where I was small and girlish, and her hair had been long, wavy, and a deep red color, where mine was curly and frizzy and a gross bright orange-red. She had been beautiful, and I was anything but. I shook my head and got ready for the night ahead of me.

All too soon, I heard them in the living room. So, I went to clean up after them. I made no eye contact; I was their servant, nothing more. They seemed to take no notice, Jonathan was too busy bragging about his latest accomplishment. Once the kitchen was clean, I headed towards my room. Well not _my_ room, the room I was forced to share with my father. Again, Jonathan barely glanced my way, which was better than him taking too much notice of me. _That_ never ended well.

While I was waiting for Valentine, I realized that was all I ever did. Waited for whatever punishment layed in store for me. I was completely powerless, and I hated it. Soon though, maybe I wouldn't be. I went over to the place where my dresser was slightly rotted, which made it move just slightly, and felt the small pouch where I kept my entire life's savings, almost two thousand dollars. If he ever found it, I would be dead, both figuratively and literally. I was gazing out of the window when I heard his heavy footsteps coming towards the room. I didn't turn, even when I felt his immense prescience close behind me. Thinking back, maybe I should've. Maybe I should have so that I would have had a chance to fight back.

I felt him pull me towards him, and tensed up thinking he was going to choke me or something, but he was surprisingly almost gentle. "You look nice," he whispered in my ear. I shivered as I said, "thank you, sir." He still didn't let go as he said, "Where did you really go before you came home?" I wondered where he was going with this. Probably nowhere good. "I only stayed after school to work on a group project, father, I promise." "I sincerely hope that was the case, and that you weren't off sneaking around with another man." I felt my throat go dry, but I managed a soft laugh, "Where did you get _that_ notion?" His grip tightened, "I know how alike you and _her_ are; always having to be tied down and watched carefully, or else you would never be seen again." My throat tightened and my heartbeat sped up, but I still managed to sound calm as I said, "I am _not_ like her." He grip tightened further as he replied, " _Prove it."_ I felt ice-cold terror creep into my chest, and my voice shook slightly as I spoke; "How do you suppose I could go about that, sir?" "Show me you love me, show me that you're _mine."_ Now I was shaking, and wanted more than anything to say that I _wasn't_ his, but I knew things would get much worse if I did. "I don't know how," I whispered. "Let me show you," he said into my ear, then kissed my neck.

I flinched and tried to pull away, but he was too strong. He kissed me lower this time, at my collarbone. "Stop." I could barely breathe enough to get the word out. This was so much worse than anything Valentine had ever done to me before. He either ignored me or didn't hear me, and continued his descent. " _Stop,"_ I said, louder this time, and tried to force his hands off of me. He wrapped his hand around mine easily, and spun me around to face him, and pushed me back against the wall. His usually empty black eyes looked almost feral with thirst. Thirst for what, I didn't know. I didn't _want_ to know. He must've seen the fear in my eyes, because he whispered, "What are you afraid of?" " _You._ " It was out of my mouth before I could stop myself. This information seemed to please his twisted mind somehow. He smiled like a madman as he said, "You _should_ be, my dear." He grabbed my face with the hand that wasn't pressing me against the wall, turned it up towards his. I looked anywhere but those horrible eyes, the ones that would haunt my dreams for years to come. "Look at me," he ordered. "Why?" I said softly. I felt his breath on my cheek as he hissed, "Do as I say, when I say it." So I did, which surprised neither one of us. He was so close it hurt. I leaned back as far as I could, but it wasn't enough. It never was. He grabbed my thin tee shirt and forced me on to the tips of my toes and kissed me. I nearly threw up, it was so disgusting. When he finally stopped, I went to my knees and started coughing and said, "Why do you hate me, Valentine? What have I ever _done_ to you?" I felt his eyes bore into me as he said, "If it wasn't for _you,_ I'd still have her. You motivated her to leave us." "You," I corrected. "What do you mean by that?" He asked coldly. "She left _you,_ not us. She never cared about _me,_ she was only focused on getting away from you once she realized what you truly are." He slammed me up against the wall again. "You know _nothing_ about her." I know I probably should've stopped, but I was so _angry_ , angry that he blamed for being born, angry that he had been treating me this way for so long. "Yes, I _do._ I know she was, is, a coward. I know she was right to leave you. I know that you're too lovesick to see that. It's made you blind." That was all it took; he grabbed my throat and slammed me down so hard onto the floor that my vision turned black at the edges. He kicked me, and I rolled over onto my stomach, trying to protect myself I guess. Valentine picked me up and threw me onto the bed, and climbed on top of me.

He started trying to force my shirt off, but I grabbed his wrist and dug my nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood. "You're a horrible person, and I hope you rot in hell," I snarled. His eyes narrowed into angry slits, and he slammed his fist into the top of my head, much too hard to be humanly possible. That's the last thing I remember.

 **Sorry that this chapter is boring, I just wanted to give you all a peek into Clary's home life.**


	2. Mentally unstable, physically insatiable

I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and my father's prescience no longer smothering me. I looked at the clock, which read 7:05. That was odd; Valentine usually never glorified the world with his company until at least ten, and _that_ only happened when he didn't get too drunk to walk in a straight line. I was usually at school by then. Something was wrong; I could feel it.

I investigated the bed; it looked like he had slept, I mean the sheets were rumpled and slightly messed up, but that could have been from my struggle the night before. As if on que, my head felt like it had been split open. I gasped and collapsed back onto the bed, clutching my head, wiling it to stop. It felt like hands were grabbing my brain and digging their nails into it and shaking it. Was this what a concussion felt like? Once I could breathe again, I stood back up. Then, I realized something; the bedroom door was closed. I knew that if I tried to leave the bedroom, he would know. So, I made up the bed, and cleaned. Anything to elongate my small breath of freedom. All too soon, though, I had nothing else to do, and I knew he would be starting to get suspicious. I was usually awake at the break of dawn; due mostly to the fact that I didn't, couldn't, sleep well close to someone who my body had been trained to fear and stay far away from, when it could.

I opened the the door cautiously, and when I saw nothing in front of me, I walked forward through the narrow hallway that separated our room from the vast hallway that encompassed Jonathan's room. I think, perhaps, that whomever had built this house hadn't intended for this house to have such a strange layout, but here we were. I remember, vaguely, living in another home, much grander than this one. But, just like all of my brother and father's goodness, it was gone. I don't know why or what happened, but I have a feeling it had something to do with my mother. It seemed like everything bad stemmed from her. As if in a daze, I punched the wall, the only thing I seemed to feel was hatred and fury at the mother I never knew. It did nothing, really, just made my knuckles hurt and bleed. The wall remained pristine white; almost like, my feverish brain thought, no one had ever lived here. In the next minute, I was on the floor, sobbing. I didn't even know why, this time. I know I've always been slightly strange; feeling emotions more acutely than anyone I knew. Once, I remember, I saw a dead bird on the side of the road and tried to bring it back to life. Once I realized I couldn't, I started sobbing uncontrollably.

Once again, I had to force myself to focus onto the present. I focused on feeling the cool tile against the skin of my hands, and the place where the white melted into the gray. My brain had always worked like that, with colors. I had always categorized colors into piles; blues, greens, yellows, pinks and purples together in something I liked to call "sky colors," and so on. Categorizing colors had always been a sort of comfort to me. Between one second and the next, I was digging my nails into the opposite wall, the reason unbeknownst to me. Was I having a mental breakdown? After all of these years of holding everything in, including my emotions, was it finally forcing its way out of me?

Suddenly, the world tilted. I think I fell on my side, or maybe I was the only thing that stayed upright. Then, I started hallucinating, or I hoped I was hallucinating; the wall started to melt. That's what it looked like at first; the white was leaking down the wall, leaving it in transparent in color. Then, the white started running red, like blood. It continued all the way around me, until the ceiling started falling, raining down on top of me. Where the ceiling had been, there were horrible _things._ I didn't even realize I was screaming; I seemed to be watching myself from above, like my brain had been separated from my body. Suddenly, I felt myself being lifted off the floor.

I screamed again, thinking I was being kidnapped or something, when I heard a deep voice commanding me to "shut _up."_ I tried to, I really did, but it seemed like the part of my brain that told my body what to do was broken. I didn't dare open my eyes for fear of what I would see. I felt solid ground beneath me again, but it wasn't cold, or really hard at all. I felt something being forced down my throat, and I was too weak to protest. After a few minutes, it felt like my insides were being twisted into a thousand little knots, and my head was trying to untie them. Soon, it was all too much, and I felt comforting waves of blackness cover me.


	3. Mr Missing Her

He knew something was wrong when he didn't see her waiting for him. Simon could always tell her apart from everyone else despite her small stature. Whenever she entered the same rooms so him, something inside of Simon came alive. He knew she wouldn't be coming, once he waited for five extra minutes, so he continued to school without her, trying to stop worrying. Clary had never missed a day of school; ever since he could remember she had been by his side, making his days exciting. Maybe he had taken it for granted.

He knew she wouldn't be at school, but a part of him had hoped anyways. He spent the day in anxious worry; he didn't eat lunch (he had no one to sit with, anyways), but rather investigated her locker. In class, he only looked out the window, almost as if he was hoping to glimpse her bright hair or deep green eyes. Once class was finished, he saw his only connection to Clary; her brother. He was pretty intimidating; he was extremely tall, but he was almost too thin to pull it off. There was an air of something evil, something ruined, about him; like he wouldn't think twice about killing someone or something. Like he kicked puppies for fun, or maybe his own sister. He had seen the bruises that littered her neck, the ones she denied and tried to cover up. Jonathan reminded him of a shark; with his feral black eyes and unsettling prescience. Simon couldn't even imagine having to be close to that type of person for an hour, let alone live with them. He wanted desperately to help her, he just didn't know how. That's what fueled Simon to confront Jonathan.

Jonathan was talking to one of his fellow predators, a sarcastic idiot who only got by on his looks. Simon didn't even know his name, nor did he care to learn it. They were talking by the lockers, quite loudly, while they were packing up their backpacks for the end of the day. Jonathan seemed alerted to his presence before he was within five feet of him, which reminded Simon of a shark even more. Jonathan turned his head and looked down at him with disdain as he spoke, "Do I know you?" It was a harm,ess question, but they way he said it, like a threat, made Simon's skin crawl. It made him nervous. "No, I don't think so, but I was wondering where Clary was." "I'm not sure." "You don't _know_ where your own sister is?" Simon demanded. "What is he talking about, Jonathan?" Jonathan leaned back slightly then, as if preparing himself for something, "Perhaps if you were patient, Jace, you could figure it out." So _that_ was his name. Jace's strangely colored eyes flashed, but he said no more. "And to answer your question, kid, I believe that _my_ sister is at home. She was still sleeping when I left this morning." Jonathan's eyes narrowed, and a possessiveness that no normal brother should feel for his sister flashed in them as he continued, "What's it to you, anyways?" Simon realized then that it would most likely benefit Clary if their friendship remained a secret. His mind was racing as he spoke, "Well, we had a project in English due tomorrow that I kind of needed to talk to her about." Jonathan still looked suspicious as he said, "Oh, well I'll talk to her about it tonight and pass on the message. I think we're done here." Simon took the dismissal gratefully, and left immediately after he gave a word of thanks. That talk had made him feel no better, but thankfully made him feel no worse. On his way home, he realized he didn't even know where Clary _lived,_ it was like he wasn't even in her life. He thought, suddenly, that maybe he didn't know Clary, the real Clary, at all. Maybe it was for the best, maybe he didn't deserve to know her.

That night, he dreamed of her, all of her. Her long, flaming hair, her big green eyes, her small body. He dreamed that she was trapped in a flaming room, her brother just laughing at her. The first thing that burnt up, strangely, was her soul. It was a beautifully vibrant pattern of turquoise and red, and watching it burn was both awful and awesome, making his heart wrench. A soul like that was definitely hard to come by.


	4. Yikes !

**Hey, it's been awhile! Sorry for not updating for so long, I've been so busy with school and such. I know thats no excuse, but hey it's something! I'll continue this story soon, I love you guys thanks for sticking around xoxo.**


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